Whispers erupted like wildfire the instant Heinz's words settled in the air.
The crowd stirred, voices hushed but sharp, slipping between the cracks of applause.
Nobles exchanged wide-eyed glances, fans fluttered in restless hands, and even some of the dukes shifted, brows lifting at the king's bold declaration.
Florian's eyes stayed wide, his breath caught somewhere in his throat. His cheeks burned hot, crimson spreading fast as though the stares of the entire ballroom had set his skin aflame.
Yet Heinz… Heinz did not falter.
He stood tall, his hand still resting lightly against Florian's arm, gaze never wavering. His lips curved into a soft, steady smile—warm, unshaken, utterly sincere.
There was no mockery, no teasing lilt in his expression.
He wasn't playing with Florian. He wasn't joking.
He meant it.
Which made Florian's chest tighten all the more.
'What is he doing? Why would he say that—here of all places?'
